Welcome To The Bullpen
Reconciliation
Tracy Thurman
Willy Brooks had fifty dollars in his pocket when he walked into the Silverton bank. It was the most honest money he’d ever had at one time and for the first time he felt an inkling of responsibility. He dusted off his worn clothes, stuffed his shaggy blonde hair under his hat, squared his shoulders and walked up to the teller’s window. “I’ve got some money I’d like to put in your bank.” He stated to the man behind the bars.
The clerk took in his appearance and asked, “Do you have an account here?” Willy glanced around at the other people milling about in the room, some stealing a sideways glance in his direction. One lady whispered something in another’s ear. “I don’t guess I do.” He answered feeling uneasy.
The man withdrew some papers from a drawer and passed them over to him. “Fill these out and we will open an account for you.”
Willy’s face turned red and he pushed the papers back. “Maybe you could fill ‘em out, I just want to put some money in the bank.”
The man looked skeptically at him and pushed the papers back again. “Sir, you’ll have to fill them out yourself. If you have ‘trouble’ perhaps you can find someone to help you.” The man grinned.
Willy picked up the papers and turned away. He heard the man snicker behind him as he looked about and caught the smirks and stares of the others. He felt his face get hot and his temper flared. He flung the papers to the floor. Spinning around to the window he drew his pistol, reached through the opening and grabbed the man by the collar. “To hell with you and your papers mister, now grab one of them sacks there and put all the money you have in it and pass it over!” He growled as he shoved the barrel of his pistol against the man’s forehead.
The clerk stepped back when he was released throwing his hands in the air. A lady behind him screamed and ran out of the building.
The clerk began cramming wads of paper bills into a sack. His hands were trembling, he was sweating profusely.
“Alright now hand it over, and be quick!”
The man passed the sack through, Willy spun around and ran for the door. A shotgun boomed behind him shattering the window to his left. A fusillade of gunfire met him as he went through the door. He tripped over the steps as he made his way out; bullets snapped the air about him. He turned and fired back wishing he was anywhere but where he was right then.
*****
Jerrod Thomas heard the shots before he saw the gunman stagger into the street in front of the Silverton bank he clutched a sack in his left hand while firing a pistol with his right. Hastily fired bullets crisscrossed the street around him kicking up clouds of dust, splintering the wood posts and railings of the buildings.
Jerrod kicked his horse into a run, spurring the animal on harder and faster as he went. He shook out his lariat swinging a widening loop high over his head as he bore down on the lone gunman crouched in the street. As he approached he let out a loud rebel yell. The high pitched shout had the desired effect, distracting the shooters long enough for him to ride through the fray and get a loop around the desperate man in the middle.
Jerrod’s arm shot out straight and fast, casting the loop around the gunman he jerked the rope taught as the horse thundered past. The man was yanked off his feet and slammed to the ground. Jerrod glanced back to see the man being dragged behind and steered his mount into the tall grass outside of town.
He rode only long enough to be clear from sight when he reigned up. Tossing the rope from his saddle horn he leapt from his horse and ran back to the still body that lay dust covered and battered behind him.
He knelt beside the man loosened the rope and attempted to assess his injuries. There were no bullet wounds and it appeared that no bones were broken bad enough to protrude through the skin. He let out a sigh of relief at finding that the gunman was still alive. Though his breathing was labored it seemed that he had survived the dragging.
Retrieving a canteen from his saddle he splashed water on the gunman’s face and fanned him with his hat. The man’s eyes fluttered open and he gasped in pain. His eyes rolled and fluttered again until finally finding their focus, he glared into the face of the man before him.
“What the hell just happened?” He croaked.
“I dragged you for a ways behind my horse.”
“Well, what’d you go and do that for?”
“It was either that or leave you there to get shot full of holes!”
The gunman lay still for a moment his mind still cloudy, his vision swirling about him.
“Come on we gotta get outta here before them town folks get on our trail.”
Jerrod placed an arm under the man and attempted to help him to his feet but the man could not stand. He led his horse over and heaved him over the animal’s rump prompting a painful groan as he did so.
Jerrod skirted the ridgelines and crossed into the river valley beyond. He found a hidden spot among the rocks and trees of a cutback. He dragged the gunman from the horse and propped him up against a tree and began to build a fire and heat some water.
“Hey…” Came Willy’s voice.
Jerrod turned around and glanced over at him. “What?”
“How ‘bout some water?”
Jerrod picked up the canteen and held it up for him to drink.
“Much obliged.” He replied.
Jerrod replaced the cap on the canteen and sat it down beside him, then suddenly swept his hat from his head and struck the man sharply across the face with it.
“Now what in hell’d ya do that for!” Willy demanded as his hand came up to the stinging on his cheek.
“For being stupid!” Jerrod replied as he stood and re-formed his bent hat.
Jerrod glared down at the injured man, “Next time you decide to rob a bank, you’d better put a little more thought into it.”
“I didn’t intend on robbin’ that bank!” Willy insisted, “That fat bank man was rude and made me mad. I figured I’d show him just how much of a big shot he really is!”
Jerrod shook his head. “Yes sir; I guess you showed ‘em mighty good. I shoulda let them pilgrims shoot holes in you!”
Willy described the events that led him to pull his gun. “You know I aint no good at readin’ and writin’ and stuff.”
Willy suddenly got anxious and began looking all around. “Where’s the money at? I had quite a haul there!”
Jerrod scoffed, “That money went flyin’ all over the street while you was screammin’ like a scared woman bouncing along behind my horse.” He paused a moment then added, “That’s probably what saved us from getting a bunch of them folks on our tails to soon, they was too busy scramblin’ around tryin’ to pick up all that loot.” The thought caused him to laugh. Willy laughed in response only to find himself doubled over in pain. “I think you busted my ribs.” He replied. “Well, it’s better than the dozen or so bullets that was tryin’ to find their way into your carcass.” Willy had to nod in agreement, “Yeah but next time try and find a smoother road.”
Jerrod knelt before Willy and looked at the cuts and bruises on his face. He shook his head as his hand reached up to adjust the brim of his hat. Willy flinched and raised a defensive arm. “You swat me with that hat again, and I’m gonna shoot you!” He exclaimed. “Yeah, well, the way you shoot, I don’t think I’d have anything to worry about.” Jerrod turned but then stopped. “Say… you didn’t shoot anybody in that bank did you?” His eyes narrowed as he asked the question. “Nah, hell I didn’t want to shoot anybody, I was aiming high just trying to keep them from shootin’ me!”
Jerrod banked up the small fire and dumped a handful of coffee grounds into the water pot.
“I thought you was goin’ on the straight and narrow. Whatever happened to that gal you was settlin’ down with?”
“You mean Delila?” Willy asked in reply, and then continued, “Well that there didn’t work out. I had to leave her alone. Seems soon as we got married and settled down all hell broke loose. I couldn’t catch my breath without her a naggin’ me and tellin’ me to wash my hands and comb my hair, shave my whiskers, don’t drink, don’t smoke, sit up straight, put on a clean shirt, elbows off the table, and… Gawd a mighty it was like bein’ in church every day! I swear I like to suffocated!”
Willy tried to move around and winced at the pain that shot through him. “Damn if you aint good with that rope, what if you’d a caught me around the neck?” he exclaimed.
Jerrod chuckled and looked over at him, “Well… I guess that woulda sure been a sad thing. I woulda had to go back and tell Aunt Jean that I stretched your miserable hide myself.”
“What’s she got to do with it?”
“She sent me up here to look for ya. She got mighty worried over you after you took off from your wife. You never was no good at stayin’ out of trouble.”
Willy started to protest when Jerrod raised his hand to stop him. The sound of hooves on gravel approached. Jerrod unhooked the thong from the hammer of his Colt and loosened it in its holster.
He heard men whispering and moving about on the other side of the trees.
A big man carrying a rifle eased into view. “Looks like you got yourself a pretty good hideaway here friend.” He drawled.
Jerrod stood ready, eyeing the stranger cautiously while trying to discern the location of the others. “Yeah, it’s pretty fair.” He replied, “What can I do for you… friend.”
The man looked around him at Willy. “We’ve come to find out what happened to that fella that robbed our bank, didn’t know if we’d find him alive enough to carry back. You must be the man with the quick rope and fast horse.”
Willy fidgeted where he was holding his ribs. Jerrod only nodded in response.
The stranger smiled. “That was some fancy work there… friend, I guess we’ll take this no-account off your hands and thank ya for your trouble.” The man made a move as if to walk by but Jerrod’s Colt came up fast and straight halting the man in his tracks.
The sound of a half dozen Winchester levers echoed from the brush around them.
The man eased the muzzle of his own rifle toward Jerrod. “Now see here… we aint got no reason to start shootin yet, but it won’t take much of an excuse from here on out.”
Jerrod’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the man before him. “If there’s gonna be any shootin I’ll make sure I do my fair share. You might not catch as many bullets, but you’ll damn sure catch enough.”
There was a long moment; an intense pause of terrible seconds as the two men faced each other, lives hung in the balance with only a single choice to determine if either would live another day.
The stranger lowered his rifle. He called to the brush around them. “You men, ease up, but be ready.”
“Now… friend, maybe we’d better see things a little clearer. My name is Boyd Allen and I’m the sheriff of Silverton. The man you have is wanted for bank robbery and I intend to take him back for that.”
Jerrod nodded to the Sheriff, his Colt still raised. “Well sir, my name is Jerrod Thomas and I’m a U.S. Marshall and I have this man in my custody to deliver to Judge Anderson in Clear Water. He will face your charges there as well as others.” He pulled back the left side of his coat to reveal the badge over his shirt pocket.
A voice came from the brush to Jerrod’s left. “Want me to shoot him Boyd?”
The sheriff replied angrily. “Shut up Ben and put that rifle away!”
Jerrod smiled at the sheriff’s embarrassment. “It seems like somebody in your posse here is trying to get you killed sheriff.”
“Don’t count me out so quick mister.” He sneered in response. He continued pointing at Willy, “I have been charged with the capture and return of a bank robber. I aint gonna let you stop me from doing that. If you look around you Mr. U.S. Marshall you’ll find that you aint exactly in a real good position to bargain.”
Jerrod‘s eyes never left the sheriff. When he replied there was a cold warning in his voice. “You know what would happen to your nice little town if a posse of U.S. Marshalls was to come upon it trying to find out what happened to one of their own?”
The Sheriff suddenly took on a much more thoughtful appearance but said nothing in return. Jerrod pushed the issue to effect.
“I’d say there would be hell to pay and plenty of nooses to go around. Why… knowin’ some of those men the way I do; you’d be grateful for the hangin’ by the time it came around to it.”
Sheriff Allen stood stock still and shifted his eyes left to right. He knew what Jerrod had said was true and he wasn’t about to invite that kind of trouble upon his town or himself. “You say you’re takin’ this man to Clear Water, fine, we’ll let the law do its job. But you’d damn well better get him there.”
A bevy of protests erupted from the brush and one man stepped out to Jerrod’s left. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim at Willy cursing as he did so.
Jerrod swung around and caught the barrel of the rifle shoving it upward and then brought the butt of his colt down sharply on the man’s head. The man crumpled to the ground as the rifle clattered to rest beside him. Willy scrambled for the fallen weapon but the sheriff’s boot fell on top of it before he could reach it, his own rifle now pointing at Willy’s head.
“Marshall, you ought to have had this man shackled!” He growled through gritted teeth.
Jerrod paused. The man from the brush caught him off guard and now things were tipping from his favor. “Alright sheriff, let’s not undo what we’ve already worked out. You fella’s back off and leave me to my duties.”
Sheriff Allen paused and eased the hammer forward on his Winchester. Stepping back he reached down with his free hand and pulled the man that Jerrod had struck from the ground. The man was bleeding from a small gash on his head, he staggered to his feet holding his wound. The sheriff shoved him back toward the place he emerged from. “Dammit Ben, you aint got the sense God gave a goose!” He huffed, and turned back to Jerrod.
“Alright Marshal, we’ll let you have your way, but if this man is ever seen in this country again he’ll be shot without question.” He then added, “We aint accounted for all the money that he took, I’d like to search him for the rest.”
Jerrod glanced at Willy and shrugged but said. “I know all that money was left right there in the street. If you haven’t accounted for all of it you might oughta think about checking the pockets of some of your good citizens. Still, if it’ll make you feel better… go ahead. Just leave that rifle over here.”
The sheriff placed his weapon against a tree and moved over to where Willy sat. He swatted Willy’s hands away from his sides and began patting him down roughly. Willy winced in pain as the sheriff’s hands struck his ribs. He reached in Willy’s pocket and pulled out a folded wad of bills and stood to count it. “Let’s see here… fifty dollars… looks like not all that money was left in the street!”
Willy protested. “That’s mine!” He exclaimed. “I earned that money honest by working steady driving a freight wagon.” He glared at the sheriff then over at Jerrod looking for a fairness that he wasn’t about to get.
The Sheriff scoffed at him and kicked his boots. “Ha! Honest you say? If a man had fifty dollars in his pocket why would he be stupid enough to rob a bank in broad daylight?”
The statement made Jerrod chuckle. “That’s a good point sheriff.” Willy, glared at both men, he started to speak but realized the futility of anything he could possibly say. He shifted his eyes to the ground before him and sat still.
Jerrod finally lowered his colt. “I’d like the use of one of your horses.”
The Sheriff scoffed again but considered the request. “We brought an extra to tote this fella back on. I guess you could use it.” He glanced over his shoulder and called out. “Bring that spare mount up and be quick. I’m getting tired of all this!”
A short, square built man walked up leading a knock kneed old mare. “How am I ‘sposed to get my horse back when you’re done with her.” He asked angrily.
Jerrod glanced at the pathetic animal wondering if it would make the trip. “I’ll write you a receipt for a fair price and the government will reimburse you.”
The man’s face brightened. “Well Marshall this here is a mighty expensive horse. She’s got royal blood all the way from the old country. I couldn’t let her go for less than say… five hundred dollars.”
It was the sheriffs turn to chuckle along with the others who stood off where they were.
Jerrod withdrew a notebook from his pocket and started to write. “I’ll write ya a receipt for forty dollars and that’s twice what that critter’s worth.” The man shook his head and began to argue. But the sheriff took the reins from his hand and nodded toward him to accept the offer. Jerrod tore the paper from his book and offered it to the man. The man didn’t like the situation at all. “I can’t buy a decent animal to replace this one for forty dollars.” He growled.
Sheriff Allen spoke up. “Did this man here have a horse in town?” Jerrod turned and let the question pass to Willy.
Willy sat up straight. “Yes sir I do.” He said. “He’s a sure footed Morgan, best hill country horse I ever had.”
“Where’s he at?” Jerrod asked.
He’s at the livery along with my saddle and other stuff.” Willy answered his own eyes questioning the others.”
“Well mister that sounds like a fair trade don’t it?” The man pretended to think but agreed almost immediately.
“Hey wait a minute!” Willy protested. “You aint gonna trade off my horse for that bag of bones!”
Jerrod shook his head. “Sounds like it’s a done deal.” He took the old mare from the sheriff and tied her to a branch nearby. “I guess that’s the way it is Willy. If you’re gonna be an outlaw ya gotta get used to losing everything you have. You’re just lucky enough to still have your life.”
The sheriff called out to the others. “You men saddle up. We’re callin’ this one finished.”
Some of the men protested angrily as they went to their horses. The sheriff stepped up close to Jerrod and scowled at him. “You know this’ll cost me my job don’t you.”
Jerrod offered his hand. “It could’ve cost us all a lot more than that.” He said. The sheriff nodded reluctantly and shook his hand, but before he turned away Jerrod spoke again. “If the good folks of Silverton send you packing, the Marshalls are always looking for good men with back bone and knowledge of the law.”
The sheriff smiled in return. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good luck to ya.” He paused only long enough to glare hatefully at Willy and point a threatening finger in his direction.
When the posse had ridden off Willy exhaled a long breath. “I never thought it would be so handy to have a cousin that was a lawman.”
Jerrod relaxed his own shoulders and sat down next to him. “You’ll wonder about it again when I get you to Clear Water.”
“Now you wouldn’t be much of a cousin if you really turned me in.”
Jerrod slipped his hat down over his eyes and lay back against his saddle. “I wouldn’t be much of a lawman if I didn’t.”
*****
Willy was battered and sore. Every hoof fall of the awkward old horse that carried him sent small jabs of pain throughout his body. Jerrod rode easily alongside.
Willy looked over at him. “What’d you mean by ‘other charges’ when you was talkin to those town folks, I aint never done nothin that would give the law a reason to come after me.”
Jerrod shrugged and replied. “I just figured that the judge would probably have something else on you by the time we got there.”
Willy looked perplexed. “Well, I sure don’t know what that’d be.”
Jerrod tipped his hat back, a cool breeze stole briefly across them as they rode. “I know the judge; I’ll try and put in a good word for you.”
“What’d you say that judge’s name was?”
“Anderson… Tom Anderson.”
Willy looked thoughtful for a moment. “That name sounds familiar. Where’d I hear that name before?”
“Probably at your wedding.” Jerrod replied frankly.
Willy continued his perplexed expression. “Now why would a judge have been at that wedding?”
Jerrod grinned over at him. “Oh, no reason, ‘cept he happens to be Delila’s uncle.”
Willy’s face went pale and he shook his head lowly. “Oh Lord, you shoulda let them pilgrims back in Silverton shoot me full of holes.”
*****
The jail in Silverton was a squat building of rock and iron. The dirt floor was strewn with moldy hay and human waste. A drunk snored loudly in a corner, his shirt covered with vomit, his trousers soiled. Willy stood forlornly leaning against the iron bars of the door when Jerrod led the doctor in. The doctor held a handkerchief to his nose and mouth and glared through the bars at Willy’s crooked frame. “Bring this man out of that cage and over to where I can get a good look at him.”
Jerrod nodded to the jailer who took a great ring of keys and rattled the lock. The iron hinges creaked loudly as the door swung open.
Willy hung his head as he was led out to an open area where there was a long table.
“Get your shirt and britches off and lay down here.” The doctor ordered.
Willy struggled out of his tattered clothes and did as he was told. The doctor prodded and pressed every bruise, cut and scrape. Willy responded with exclamations of pain laced with an occasional curse.
The doctor turned and eyed Jerrod over the top of his spectacles. “What happened to this man?”
Willy spoke up hoping to find a sympathetic ear. “He dragged me behind his horse!” He exclaimed. The doctor looked again at Willy then back to Jerrod his eyes wide in surprise then narrowed in accusation. “Why in the hell would you do that?” He asked.
Jerrod rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Just seemed like the thing to do.” He replied simply.
The doctor shook his head and began scrubbing out the lacerations with alcohol and wrapped bandages around Willy’s ribs and places on his arms and legs that looked like they could use them. He finished up with a wrap around his head. Just in case.
When the doctor had completed his task he motioned the jailer and Willy was led limping back to his cell. He looked over at Jerrod as he was taken away. “Don’t forget that good word.”
*****
Jerrod raised his hand to knock on the door of Judge Anderson’s office just as it opened. A short, plump young woman was escorted out by the judge himself. Her eyes were red and face tear streaked. She held a handful of lacy cloths to her round cheek as she exited. Jerrod doffed his hat and smiled at her. “Good afternoon Delila.” He said.
She scowled up at him for a moment and wailed into her hankies as she brushed on by.
Judge Anderson stood aside and motioned for Jerrod to enter. He exhaled heavily and went to his desk. Opening a drawer he withdrew a paper container of headache powders and dumped the contents in a glass of water. He said nothing but swirled the mixture in the glass and downed the liquid in a gulp. He set the glass back and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I could probably use something a lot stronger than that.” He said with finality. He sat in a large stuffed leather chair and leaned back. “So you brought that boy to justice have you?”
Jerrod nodded and tried to force a smile. Judge Anderson was an imposing but fair minded man who wielded a great amount of authority and demanded an even greater amount of respect.
“Yes sir I have but I wanted to talk to you about…”
The judge raised his hand cutting him off. “I’ve already had an earful of concerns over young Mr. Brooks’ case.”
A knock at the door interrupted both men. “Come in!” the judge hollered. The door creaked open and Boyd Allen stepped into the room.
“Ah Mr. Allen… I guess you know my deputy Marshall Jerrod Thomas.”
Boyd nodded to Jerrod. “Yes sir I do.” He replied. Jerrod nodded back. Neither man spoke to the other. An uncomfortable momentary silence fell upon the room until the judge finally spoke up. “It Seems Mr. Allen here has gotten the idea of joining the ranks of the Marshalls. Isn’t that correct Mr. Allen?”
Boyd nodded. “Yes sir, that’s correct.”
The quiet in the room remained but was suddenly broken by the mechanical noise of a gallows being tested in the court yard. Jerrod and Boyd both looked out the window and watched as a large sack was repeatedly placed on the trap door and released. CLA-CLUNK… THUMP, CLA-CLUNK… THUMP, came the deadly sound from below. The sack jerked to a stop mid-fall, dangled for a moment, then hung still but for a slight turning motion to the right.
Judge Anderson watched the two with slight amusement. The cold chills that ran up either man’s spine were almost tangible.
“It’s a hard business we’re in gentlemen. It’s never pretty and it’s rarely enjoyable.”
Jerrod turned away from the window and mentioned again the topic of Willy Brooks. The judge walked to the window and stared out at the gallows below his hands folded behind his back.
“Did you see the woman leaving my office?” He asked still staring out the window.
Jerrod nodded but said nothing.
“That is my niece; my beloved sister’s only daughter.” He shook his head disdainfully. “The poor child is the spitting image of her mother.”
Boyd Allen spoke up interrupting the Judges concentration. “Your Honor that man robbed a bank in my town and should be sent to prison for his trouble.”
The exercise at the gallows continued, the cruel sound punctuated the Judges thoughts.
“Mr. Allen, if you intend to serve this territory as a deputy Marshall you will need to learn to accept the judgment’s passed by this court without question.” He stated firmly, and then continued in a lower voice. “There is more than one kind of justice in this world and I intend to see to it that it is served whether it be written in law or not. What I have in mind for that lad is far more severe than a prison term.”
*****
The courtroom was sparse and the trial swift. Delila sat in the front row of benches sobbing loudly. She wore a purple dress with a ridiculously large bow in her hair. Her cries were an annoyance to the proceedings yet the people in the room did their best to ignore them. Boyd Allen testified as did Jerrod Thomas. Very little of the standoff outside of Silverton was mentioned however. The judge was particularly interested in battered shape in which the accused appeared. The re-telling of the lassoing and dragging appeared to please him.
At the reading of the guilty verdict Delila wailed loudly into her wad of hankies. Finally the judge spoke.
“William Francis Brooks.” He stated the name as though it were a topic of discussion rather than addressing the accused.
“You have been found guilty by this court. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence.”
Willy stood on wobbly knees and leaned on a crutch. “I’d like to say I’m sorry and ask the judge to please go easy on me.” He stammered.
The judge’s face was a mask of indifference to Willy’s plight. “You’ll find no leniency here Mr. Brooks!” He spat. “You have caused a lot of trouble for a lot of folks here about and a fair amount to myself and kin. You have raised hell and played hob and it ends in this courtroom today!”
Willy stood firm and straight as he could under the glare of Judge Anderson’s scorn. A cold silence befell the room, even Delila’s loud weeping subsided.
Finally the judge spoke. “William Francis Brooks… I hereby sentence you to hang by the neck until you are dead.”
The courtroom gasped collectively. Willy crumpled into the chair beside him. Boyd Allen and Jerrod Thomas exchanged shocked glances. Delila wailed loudly, bawling ever louder as the seconds ticked on. Judge Anderson slammed his gavel down like thunder in the room. The loud report startled Delila causing her to pause in her bawling even if momentarily. The judge pointed his gavel at her and spoke sternly. “Young lady, if you do not stop that blubbering I will charge you with contempt of court!” She clutched her hankies to her mouth, whimpering in response.
He returned his attention to Willy who was staring bewildered at the floor in front of him.
“Mr. Brooks. I am inclined to suspend the sentence I have passed on you on condition of the successful completion of a period of supervised probation. Do you understand what that means?” Willy looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He wasn’t sure but whatever it was sounded a lot better than a long drop and a short rope. He struggled to his feet and nodded. “Y…yes sir.” He stammered.
The Judge glared at him for a moment before speaking. “During this period of probation you will not leave the boundaries of this county, you will not imbibe in any intoxicating liquors, nor will you be permitted to enter or patronize any saloon, gambling house or any other establishment that might serve temptation of any sort. Furthermore you will be in attendance of every Sunday church service, and I mean on the front pew. Do you understand that Mr. Brooks?” Willy was quiet for only a moment trying to absorb all the judge had just said. “Y… Yes sir.” He finally replied
The judge sat back then. “Very well, this period of probation starts today and will continue under the supervision of Mrs. Delila Brooks for a term of no less than… fifty years.” The statement caused Delila to catch her breath. She bolted upright in her chair the handful of hankies fell to her lap. The judge pointed his gavel threateningly at Willy as he continued. “Young man, I don’t believe that you have sense enough to stay in out of the rain so I am warning you that if you stray a single foot from the path during this period of probation, I will see to it that a noose is affixed firmly around your neck and I will pull the lever myself! Do you understand that Mr. Brooks?”
Willy nodded wide eyed and pale. “Y… Yes Sir!”
The Judge slammed his gavel down sharply, “I hereby remand you to the custody of Mrs. Delila Brooks. And may God have mercy on your soul.”
Willy glanced over at Delila who smiled like a cat who had just cornered a mouse. He turned back to Jerrod. “You should have let them pilgrims back in Silverton shoot me full of holes.” He hissed.
*****
Fifty years and one month later, the good people of Clear Water lay to rest one of their prominent citizens. A victim of pneumonia and injuries sustained from falling off of a horse.
The funeral of Mr. William F. Brooks was attended by the entire town. The preacher spoke praising words of the deeds and goodness of a man who was considered a pioneer and a pillar of the community. “He was a hard working, sober, honest man, a deacon of the church and a friend to all.”
The center of the front row of chairs was occupied by the plump, gray haired widow, flanked by her three daughters; all the spitting image of their mother. Their collective sobbing caused the preacher to halt his words on several occasions.
Save perhaps for the widow herself, only a couple of old retired U.S. Marshals who stood back and away from the crowd knew why Mr. William F. Brooks would have gone out on a rainy night, gotten drunk and rode hell bent for leather for the county line.
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